


Christmas Wishes

by Muze



Category: Sanditon (TV 2019), Sanditon - Jane Austen
Genre: 12 Days of Sanditon, Eliza who?, F/M, Scholar Babington, blink and you'll miss it prompt inclusion, money inversion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:28:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22091077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muze/pseuds/Muze
Summary: The Sanditon AU in which the Parkers and Denhams are rich, Crowe is a lord, and Babington isn’t.
Relationships: Clara Brereton/Mr. Crowe, Lord Babington/Esther Denham, minor Charlotte Heywood/Sidney Parker
Comments: 7
Kudos: 32





	1. The Sanditon ball

**Author's Note:**

> Upon rewatching the 2017 Little Women BBC series, I realized I didn’t just recognize Lord Babington from having been in Game of Thrones, the actor played Professor Baehr as well. Which lead me to imagine an inversion to the Esther/Babington dynamics. What if he was the poor one and she the wealthy one? I literally thought of this story idea yesterday and I just couldn’t get it out of my head so here you have it. A multichapter story for Christmas, that isn't about Christmas at all, but there is a tree mentioned in the final chapter, and all your wishes shall come true!
> 
> Including everyone's deepest wish: In this one Edward has been disinherited years before the events of Sanditon, so no Edward, huray!
> 
> Made for the 12 days of Sanditon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Updated 16/1/'20 simply to include the cover art I've made*

‘Miss Denham, Miss Heywood, Miss Brereton, I'd like to introduce my friends. This is Lord Crowe and Mr Babington', announced Mr. Parker.

Esther, Charlotte and Clara studied the men in front of them. The Lord looked at them appreciatively, but he didn’t appear to be too steady on his feet. His friend, on the other hand, had quite a studious look about him with his beard and less stylish clothes.

‘Our friend assures us of good sport here,’ Lord Crowe smirked, ‘shall we find any?’

Another immature playboy, unable to grow up because he never had to worry about a thing. Esther refrained from rolling her eyes. Her aunt wished for her to marry soon and well, since she was already past twenty-five, but it appeared all men she met suffered from the same chronic ailments: stupidity and superficiality.

‘I believe there is very little shooting in the neighbourhood, sir.’

‘I wasn't thinking of shooting.’

Now her eyes were rolling, and she didn’t even care.

‘My friend was thinking of dancing, I'm sure’, the one named Babington said with a light-hearted laugh.

‘Could we persuade any of you young ladies to dance with us?’

Esther noticed Clara’s eyes taking in the drunk lord. No doubt she saw in him a way to escape her situation. ‘I'm sure you could, sir’, Esther replied as Clara and Lord Crowe were already taking each other by the arm.

The bearded man offered Esther his arm and she took it, allowing him to take her to the dance floor.

Your brother will be very pleased with you, Mr Parker’, Charlotte smiled.

‘Yes, I hope so. Crowe’s a well-intentioned man, he just has a couple of bad habits he has a hard time kicking. But what’s more important, he's a good friend of the Prince Regent. Now, if he could be convinced into coming to Sanditon, then the general rejoicing would be unconfined, I imagine.’

Charlotte couldn’t help but agree as the two continued their walk.

‘So, Mr. Babington. A friend of Mr. Parker?’

‘Ah, yes. I taught him at college.’

‘You’re a professor?’

‘I’m only a doctor. Unfortunately, the world does not need many professors’, he admitted with some shame.

It was a polite way to say he had a hard time finding a job, but the man was a scholar nonetheless. At least he would be more interesting to talk to than the other guests present.

‘What’s your field of expertise?’

‘Economy and Philosophy.’

‘Practical studies and formulas versus the study field of dreamers? How odd.’

He couldn’t help but respond to her amused smile with a laugh of his own.

‘Ah, but the economy as it is, is proof of a certain philosophy. Right now, the philosophy of our economy is capitalism and liberalism. Our economy is formed by our idea of what a good economy should be. I enjoy reflecting on economic systems. You frown, Miss Denham, do I displease you? Perhaps you find the topic tedious. I confess, it isn’t the most engaging topic for most people. Forgive me, I am not used to the company of women, or society in general.’

‘I don’t mind philosophy, but I rather dislike economy. It’s only money.’

Mr. Babington’s eyebrows rose, as would anyone who didn’t know Esther Denham but knew how much influence money had on one’s life.

‘I don’t like sounding superficial, Miss Denham, but money is never just money.’

She rolled her eyes.

‘I dislike money because in my opinion, far too many people consider money the ultimate goal. Everyone’s obsessed with it. According to me, it is a means to an end, not a goal in and of itself.’

‘Ah, there is a philosopher in you’, he laughed.

‘You thought me shallow?’ she inquired, raising an eyebrow.

He shook his head vehemently, before turning her around.

‘No I did not. You never gave that impression. I simply misunderstood your previous statement given your position in society, but I understand now. I believe I agree, but just to be safe, might I enquire as to what you deem a worthy goal?’

He was incredibly honest, Esther had to give him that. Even though she was pretty sure he’d just confessed to being surprised that a rich woman didn’t care a lot about money, she found herself interested in continuing the conversation. If he kept it up this way, she was almost tempted to have a second dance with him after this one.

But now she wished to impress him, instead of answering with generally accepted goals. Unfortunately for her, her goals were in fact quite commonplace.

‘A goal could be happiness, ample money helps to take away worry and makes one able to do things one enjoys. To have a happy marriage would be a goal, if both or one partner are wealthy enough, they are able to marry instead of being kept apart by circumstance. Children are a goal, and money comes in useful to provide for them when they need clothes or a doctor.’

‘Just my two cents’, Esther shrugged.

‘Now I understand, and now I can say I agree?’

‘I thought a philosopher always managed to critique or question a certain idea.’

‘Oh I can, but I don’t see a particularly big flaw in your line of thinking.’

‘Humour me, provide me with one critical note.’

‘There are philosophers, and countless of everyday examples, of poor people being very happy, and rich people being miserable, of children lacking in nothing with parents having plenty of money yet dying.’

‘Money helps achieve a goal. It helps. There’s still other forces at play. But I daresay for the majority of people, money is necessary to at least have a shot at reaching their goals. Those who can be content despite incredibly poor circumstances, are few and far between.’

‘I know. I knew my argument was weak, and I already agreed with you, but since you asked, I told you. I would not dare to go against a lady’s wishes.’

That made her smile, and decide to have another dance with him should he ask. But Lord Crowe asked her for the next, and Babington didn’t try again.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

‘Aunt, what is that?’ Esther asked upon entering the room her aunt was currently occupying with her commanding presence.

‘You too?’ Lady Denham asked. Clara shot her an apologetic look, but Esther simply turned away. Their bond had bettered, but she still hadn’t forgotten her frolicking with Edward.

‘A pineapple. I’ll host a dinner to celebrate Miss Lambe’s arrival to Sanditon. New money always comes in handy in places like these. Had your brother not been the stupid oaf he was, I might have been able to couple them, but he simply had to squander away his life the way he did. No matter. Miss Lambe needs to be convinced of the merits of Sanditon to invest in it, and Lord Crowe needs to be convinced of yours, Esther.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Lord Crowe is a prize well worth the winning. You will be seated next to him. And you will present yourself as a lovely and eligible wife. You are a wealthy English lady of impeccable family. I am well aware that you have so far frittered away these advantages and wasted your most beautiful years with walking, painting and reading silly books, but you must marry one day and he is rich and has important acquaintances. I married well twice to ensure our family had money. I only ask you to marry well once. Though it is unfortunate he appears to be young and in good health.’

‘The man’s a drunk’, Esther sighed while ignoring the stabs her aunt tried to deliver.

‘You may prize yourself lucky if that’s his only fault. Besides, most drunks can’t do a lot. At least he’ll leave you in peace.’

‘Perhaps you should put him with Clara, since she didn’t seem to mind yesterday.’

Her cousin threw her a shocked look, but didn’t disagree. She would be stupid to insist on not sitting beside such a wealthy bachelor.

‘No, no. There will be no escaping this Esther, you have to try at least.’

‘Doesn’t Clara have to marry as well?’

‘Yes, but you’re the easier one to marry off. You have money and name.’

‘One could say that after attending two season a year for almost ten years in a row, she is obviously not easy to marry off’, Clara noted sharply.

‘Girls. What did I tell you after that fleabag left? There would be no fighting over my inheritance and there would be no animosity between the two of you. But if this is the case, I shall put both of you next to him. Betting on two horses has always been the wiser strategy. I trust you do understand the difference between the arts of courtship and sarcasm, Esther? I hope you do. You'd better. If neither of you secures him, I will be very disappointed in you. And you don't want to fall out of favour with me, do you?’

‘No, Aunt’, the girls replied.

‘You have your work cut out for you. That man has seen a lot of the world, and without a doubt a lot of women. It shall take no little amount of flirting and being pretty to make him choose country girls over the age of twenty like yourselves. Once you've secured his hand in marriage, you can go back to wasting your days like usual. I want to see both of you married before Christmas. And that is both a wish and a command.’

The girls nodded and waited until Lady Denham left before Esther went back to her novel, and Clara to her piano.


	2. The luncheon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Denham's pineapple tasting goes awry, but Esther's too occupied to pay any attention to the tensions at the table.

‘Are you planning on visiting them?’ Babington asked of his friend over breakfast.

Crowe looked up from his coffee, head leaning miserably on his hand as he suffered through yet another hangover induced headache.

‘Who?’

‘Miss Denham and Miss Brereton. You seemed to find them quite agreeable last night.’

‘What on earth would I do that for?’

‘Nothing for, I just thought you were considering marriage.’

‘Well I have to since I’m over thirty-five but there’s no need to start running after women. Why would a lord try and pursue a woman? I’m the better party, they should be convincing me, not the other way around. The only one I would have to pursue is Miss Lambe, but Parker declared her off limits. Pity really, she seems feisty.’

Babington doubted that was how a courtship worked, and he had no doubt Crowe knew that as well. His friend was simply lazy and unwilling to settle. Every excuse was good enough when it came to finding reasons to not take courtship seriously. If he were a lord, he would have gone to Miss Denham to prove her the attentions he had bestowed upon her the previous night had been sincere.

‘Didn’t you like Miss Brereton or Miss Denham?’

Crowe rolled his eyes and took another sip of his coffee.

‘The blonde one was fun. Sweet, polite, humorous, flirty. I always heard these things about redheads and was curious to find out but I find her most disagreeable. She’s vain, arrogant and her tongue is far too sharp for someone of her station. If she was say, of my station, such an attitude might have been amusing, but she didn’t posses any humility, treating me as if she did _me_ a favour by dancing with me. I don’t know what you see in her.’

‘I see in her? I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I am drunk, not blind, you were gawking at her all night. Sad really, she’s not worth it. Such a woman shall expect you to keep pleasing her throughout the entire marriage. There’s many a prettier and more subservient woman.’

‘Should I be rich enough to marry, and find a woman willing to marry me, I’d have her as my wife, not just another servant.’

Crowe gave up on his attempt to be sober and poured some brandy in his coffee before taking another sip.

‘I don’t want a servant either. I want a girl raised to be a wife and fit in with society. No offense Babington, but men can rise above their station and educate themselves, women are a direct product of their social situation and can do little about it.’

The servant came in carrying invitations for a luncheon and pineapple tasting for the two gentlemen, and the tense conversation came to an end.

Babington couldn’t focus on the article he’d been writing on von Schiller for two entire days, he could only think about the pleasing aesthetics of Miss Denham’s red curls.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

The day of the luncheon arrived, and Babington was pleased to note that the table arrangements were most favourable, since he was placed next to Miss Denham, who had exchanged her black dress for a red example, making it impossible to look away.

‘Miss Denham, you are looking… uncommonly well. If I may say so.’

It was amusing how uncomfortable he was in conversation, stuttering his way through the compliment.  
Esther studied the bearded man. He was dressed in slightly faded dark tweed, but his patterned black cravat still shone brightly. He had green eyes, she noticed now that she saw him in the light of day. They shone brightly underneath his hair. She decided they were his prettiest attributes.

‘You may’, she said, curious as to how he might continue the conversation if she didn’t encourage him. Not that she ever encouraged a man to continue talking. It was her first test: to see if they were truly interested in her or only in her wealth and looks. Barely any men had made it past the first test, immediately giving up on her once she didn’t go out of her way to make them feel comfortable.

‘And your hair, if I might be so bold, has such a glossy sheen on it.’

She bit her lip to prevent herself from laughing out loud, since the other conversations at the table seemed to be quite tense.

‘There. Now I know my efforts were not in vain. It consumes a lot of time, since these curls are natural, to tame them, but I won’t trust a servant with it. It’s a tedious job, but it has to be done.’

‘Well, that is a commission I should happily undertake.’ The words left his mouth before he could stop himself. Heat rose to his face as his body flooded with embarrassment.

Esther’s hand covered her mouth.

Babington prayed for the sweet relief of death, he had mortified her by his scandalous remark. Now, without a doubt, he had lost all credit. No lady of her status should have to endure such remarks from a poor scholar.

Instead her eyes twinkled, she was amused by his embarrassment which far superseded her own.

‘Not a chance, Mr. Babington.’

He knew that, he’d always known that? But he was glad she answered with a smile instead of standing up or demanding he’d be removed from the table, which would have been perfectly acceptable as well.

Deciding to take pity on him though, she decided to give him one more chance to stop making a fool of himself.

‘What have you been up to the past couple of days? Discovering the local taverns, judging by the state of your friend?’ Esther asked even though Crowe sat next to her. She kept her face turned away from his form, which still reeked of alcohol through the cologne he’d applied.

‘We have, but that has not been my primary occupation. I’ve been writing an article for a magazine.’

‘On what?’ This at least peaked her interest, between the awkward conversation about slavery the rest of the table was having, and Crowe’s and Clara’s chittering about music.

‘Aesthetics.’

‘Kant?’

‘Mainly von Schiller. It’s about how his outlook on the sublime differs from Kant.’

‘What is your claim?’

‘It’s my first time focussing on the sublime and aesthetics. Usually, as you know, I focus on philosophy about economy, and frequently politics and the eternal questions of life. Art is a field I’m not as familiar with as I’d like to be. Perhaps that’s why I enjoy Schiller, he combines politics and aesthetics in his Letters of Aesthetic Education.’

Esther took another bite of food.

‘Too many treatises have been written on art by men who know little about it. Do try to limit yourself to the beauty of nature and the sublime, at least everyone has experience with that. I wish you good luck, I found his letters a tedious read. They are confusing. He is incapable of presenting a coherent thought and motivating that thought with claims. Instead it’s just one long rant, which flows from one thought to the next. He writes prettily, I’ll give him that, but he doesn’t present his thoughts well.’

‘I have found myself struggling the last few days. Perhaps for that exact reason. I have a list of all philosophers discussing it, and am still working my way through it. It appears to be just as difficult to comprehend their opinion about the sublime as it is, according to them, to comprehend the sublime.’

‘I think the whole problem is that they’re trying to put something into words which is impossible to put into words.’

‘Do enlighten me please, Miss Denham. I can use all the help I can get.’

A scholar asking her opinion, valuing her points. It was the first time in her life she wasn’t mocked for reading books, but instead she was asked intellectual questions she could only answer _because_ she had read books.

‘So Kant calls sublime that which we cannot get our head around. However to acknowledge this, would contradict the principle of the purposiveness of nature for our judgment. So he tries to contain it, by pretending that we don’t experience a sublime feeling because of the object we are observing but instead says that the sublime is an idea of reason. And we consider it sublime because the thing we experience is fighting against a great idea in our head. He wants to give the sublime a purpose, and says we can wrap our heads around it. Which I disagree with. And then Schiller, if I remember correctly, I never got far, wants to establish an objective concept of beauty, as if Kant’s attempt at trying to contain beauty by trying to explain it wasn’t bad enough. Am I making any sense?'

‘But Kant said that beauty was inherently a subjective quality. He says that beauty is always in the eye of the beholder’, Babington argued. He much preferred Schiller. Esther Denham could not possibly only be beautiful to his eyes. He found himself only falling deeper under her spell, as she huffed and rolled her eyes while talking about Kant.

‘He does say that. Isn’t it funny. He says that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, yet, he wants to describe exactly what beauty is, and why we love it. But if it is in the eye of the beholder, it is impossible to demarcate what beauty , nor is it possible to explain why we consider something beautiful, since everyone has different reasons.’

‘He reasons our brains all work alike.’

‘That’s stupid. And Schiller is even more stupid for trying to separate beauty from thought. It is impossible to be objective and to completely detach what you see from what you think.’

‘Yet you said beauty simply was, so that means something is beautiful no matter what someone’s opinion on it is?’

‘I did. Meaning I also loathe it when people try to pinpoint exactly what makes something beautiful.’

‘Ah, now I believe I’m getting where you’re going.’

‘I also believe his way of appreciating beauty is unattainable.’

‘It does make sense though. He says that our believes, needs and desires cloud our judgement and make it hard for us to objectively enjoy something. If you’re hungry, you’ll call that pie over there beautiful without a doubt’, he pointed out. ‘And if you dislike politics, no doubt you will dislike the most beautiful politically charged painting at least a little.’

‘All good and well. But what of desire?’ she asked, her dark eyes looking at him with a certain euphoria to them. She was not to be conquered, neither physically or mentally.

His mouth went dry.

‘Desire?’

He knew well enough what Schiller said of it. If we desired something, it would instantly become more beautiful to us. If you were hungry, food would be more attractive. If you enjoyed redheads, you would quickly find them more appealing than people with other hair colours. Just two days ago, he had been baffled by how negative Crowe had been about Miss Denham, while to him, there had not been a more enthralling creature in the entire ballroom. He considered Esther’s beauty to be undeniable, yet she had not been sought out by his other friends.

‘If something is beautiful, we cannot help but desire it to at least some extent. A beautiful pair of shoes, a wild sea we cannot wish to immerse ourselves into even though we know it would be fatal, the concept of love even though we know love can bring us pain, a beautiful painting, a beautiful woman. If we consider something beautiful, we cannot help but desire it in some way. Whether we wish to be close to it, or to have it as our possession.’

He hung to her lips as she talked of love and desire, and could not help but agree. Even though he wished to be better, he could not help but wish to possess her, and to see her again. He felt raw and vulnerable, faced with the subject of his desire as they talked so openly about beauty. He felt like his secret lurked just beneath the surface. He looked at his plate, afraid that she would be able to see the desire and admiration in his eyes.

‘Not everything is to be possessed’, he exclaimed before drinking from his wine glass.

‘No. But you don’t have to be able to possess it. I merely stated that we wish to keep it, not that we’re able to. For example the night sky on a summer night. It can be so beautiful you wish to lay down in the grass and stare at it forever. You desire to keep seeing it. Have you ever stood on a cliff, feeling the wind tear at your clothes as you watched the waves break against the jagged rock formations? You know that you’re one step removed from plunging to your death, yet you cannot pull away. It is beautiful and destructive and positively sublime, but it would be futile to analyse what makes it so. You can’t describe it, you only know it is beautiful and wish to keep seeing it.’

‘I agree. Though I have never been near a cliff.’, he quietly admitted. Though the feeling she described was awfully close to what he felt at the present moment.

‘Sanditon has such cliffs, perhaps you should see them sometime. I like to go there regularly.’

She froze, realizing that it sounded like she wanted to go with him. She blinked and continued as if nothing had happened.

‘So, if we consider something beautiful, it is impossible to not desire it to at least some extent. And if, according to Schiller, we can only truly judge beauty when we don’t desire it, we cannot judge beauty. For we will always desire it. And if beauty is something which is objective, than all who truly appreciate beauty must be able to recognize it. But that equally means that all desire it to some extent, so there can be no true neutral judge of beauty. Which leads to, again, my claim that beauty cannot be put into words, since there can be no objective analysis.’

‘Miss Denham, you continue to amaze me. I simply cannot disagree.’

The next smile was so genuine, free of sarcasm and mistrust, that his heart simply melted. And Esther, in turn, could barely get the smile off her face, it was the first time someone had complimented her for any other reason than to butter her up because they desired to marry her.

But the moment was broken when finally, even they could not avoid the tense conversation had by the rest of the table.

‘And you, Miss, are you still keeping up the pretence that you are not in Sanditon in search of a wealthy man to marry and to keep you?’

Esther sighed and took a bite of her food. There her aunt went again. Being direct and thinking her rudeness was amusing. But Miss Heywood surprised Esther by laughing.

‘Indeed I am not, ma'am. I have no thoughts of marriage at all. And if I were to choose a husband, wealth would not come into it.’

Esther bit her lip, that would surely vex her aunt. She had always been annoyed by Esther’s inability to fix one of the single Parker brothers, and Miss Heywood had just been talking to Sidney Parker. No doubt the old woman was trying to get Charlotte to confess to wanting a husband, so that the Parker brothers and other eligible bachelors would stay away from her. It was a truth generally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife. But women had to be subtle about wanting to be said wife.

‘Poppycock’, huffed Lady Denham.

‘Should not be a good marriage be based on mutual love and affection? Without equality of affection, marriage can become a kind of slavery.’

‘Or an escape from it’, Lady Denham laughed.

If Esther and Babington looked at the other’s body from the corner of their eyes, no one noticed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been quite philosophical, but I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> On the characters:  
> I think Esther wouldn't be as rude if she didn't feel like she had to chase men away because she was spoken for. She still tests and mistrusts men though, she has experienced Edward after all. 
> 
> Show Babington appears to be very comfortable with courting Esther and approaching her, and he feels quite entitled to push. I think that's definitely tied to his wealth. He's got nothing to be insecure about. He has a lot of friends, a good position and a lot of money. I think show Babington also had a lot of women throwing themselves at him (you can even see a woman embracing him in a tavern in one scene) because of his wealth, and I reason that's why he rather enjoys Esther's indifference. He's still the same Babington but he's poor now. He hasn't spent as much time in society, and never had any woman throwing herself at him. Meaning he won't pursue her in the same way.
> 
> I think Crowe will obviously be a very different kind of Lord than Babington. I don't hate Crowe but I definitely think he'd be more snobbish than Babington.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Babington and Crowe leave for London, but they can't really leave Sanditon behind.

The events of the luncheon were cause for the men to visit the pub for drinks and a game of cards.

‘So, how are you and Miss Brereton, Crowe?’

‘Very well, she constantly teases me with those little smiles and so called innocent remarks, but she doesn’t fool me. Saucy bitch’, he laughed as he laid down two cards.

‘But she doesn’t make it too hard. Since you believe all women should treat you with reverence since you’re a peer of the realm’, Babington remarked with amusement.

‘I love it’, he confessed with only the faintest of smiles before pouting at the cards Sidney laid down.

He took another couple of cards and looked at them.

‘So,’ Crowe mumbled while studying his cards. ‘Noticed you were talking with the redhead again. Appeared she was a great deal more talkative today. Talked even more than you. How long before you, er, bring her to heel?’

The sly grin he bestowed Babington as he laid down his cards, disturbed the scholar.

‘ "Bring her to heel"? She's not a dog, Crowe, she's a young lady.’

He would never wish to replace her with a more docile, less opinionated woman. He’d loved listening to her this afternoon.

Sidney breathed in the tobacco from his pipe, looking at the exchange between his two friends with a pained expression. They were the best of friends, but different like night and day. Though he had no clue what Babington could see in the arrogant and cold cousin of Lady Denham, he knew Babington to be a natural defender of all those he cared about. It would do Crowe well to take the hint and drop the topic.

‘She needs to be mastered.’

Babington, luckily, just laughed because of the sheer ridiculousness of the statement. He doubted one could ever master Miss Denham if one tried.

‘Mind you, I like a bit of spirit in a girl. Little Miss Heywood, for example. She's got a bit of spunk about her.’

This time Crowe looked at what response the statement might lure out of Sidney.

‘Or Miss Lambe. The way she stood up to that old witch today, you can tell she'd be a lively handful in bed.’ He grinned at Babington. Knowing that would for sure lure a reaction out of Sidney.

Babington could only shake his head. Crowe was incorrigible.

No second later, Sidney’s hand came down on the table, rattling their glasses and causing them to spill over. Crowe jumped, looking at his broody friend in shock.

‘Don't even think about it, Crowe.’

‘There's no need to take that tone. I was only saying’, he quickly said with a weak smile, trying to ease the tension. But Sidney would drive home his point first.

‘I mean it.’

‘All right. Understood’, Crowe muttered before leading the conversation down a safer path.

Two days later, work required Babington to return to London. Crowe went with him, deciding life in Sanditon was too dull without any events keeping him entertained.

If he’d been a Lord, or anyone notable enough to pursue Miss Denham, he would have gone to her to say goodbye, being that he was just a simple man she’d met two times, he didn’t though, and simply packed his bag.

But an event the next morning lead to him running into her.

When they went to bid Sidney goodbye, the man turned out to have not come home the previous night. Babington, remembering Sidney’s tale of having been caught swimming by Miss Heywood, suggested their friend might be found in the pub. They found him there, reeking of alcohol. They couldn’t keep themselves from laughing, causing their hungover friend to look up in annoyance.

‘Show some mercy, it is rudely early!’

‘I told you he'd still be here’, Babington laughed. Crowe shook his head in amusement, glad to not be the hungover friend for once.

‘Oh, for shame. Look at the state of him, Babbers.’

‘A wretched sight indeed.’

‘Is that not what Miss Heywood said when she ran into you by the cove?’

‘I should never have told you.’

‘If you hadn't forced that fifth bottle… Well, never mind that now, old friend’, Babington smiled gently. No use in instilling some sense in him right now.

‘You need to have a shave, get some devilled kidneys down you. We're leaving’, Crowe announced. Sidney agreed, and brought them to their carriage. Crowe wished to send a note forward so his house would be prepared for his arrival. As Babington waited, he spotted Miss Denham walking through the street.

He couldn’t help himself, he approached her. Fate had brought her on his path, he was given the opportunity to say goodbye.

‘Mr. Babington.’

‘Miss Denham. I came to say I'm leaving Sanditon today.’

Never one to pretend or act soft, she simply looked at him.

‘I shall try to bear your absence with equanimity.’

‘Ha.’ Really, what else could he have expected a lady of such breeding to say to him? He was a nobody to her, and too poor for her to have to treat him with politeness.

How would she have responded if he were wealthier? Would she have bid him a safe journey?

Would he ever see her again? The thought of never seeing her again pained him. It was true what she had said the previous day, you always desired to be near – or in the possession of – that which you considered beautiful. He wished he was wealthy enough to ask her whether he was allowed to write to her.

‘I wish to thank you for our talk a couple of days ago. I am in search of a philosopher I agree with more, now that you’ve ruined Kant and Schiller for me. Or perhaps I should develop my own theory.’

‘Do credit me for my ideas. I spent hours reading their work and forming opinions, and they’re rarely ever heard in this stupid town.’

‘I wouldn’t dare steal the fruits of your labour, Miss Denham. It is a pity you cannot enlighten me further.’

She could, if only he asked to write to her. She half expected him to, if only to keep on discussing aesthetics as he wrote his paper. Though she knew she would have a hard time explaining to her aunt why she was receiving letters from Mr. Babington while never having allowed one of the men Lady Denham considered appropriate suitors to do so.

But he didn’t, and simply took his leave.

She could only dryly mutter her goodbye, before he turned and left.

‘No joy there, Babbers? Mm.You might as well howl at the moon’, Crowe laughed as Babington joined him at the carriage.

Letters were written, never meaning to be sent, telling of his affections, or just trying to have a polite conversation with her. He lay awake nights on end, thinking of how she might have responded had she sent them. She had seemed amused at the thought of anyone pursuing her. She would no doubt respond with witty disdain and sarcastic remarks, and perhaps the occasional clever insight here and there.

Sometimes he held the letters in his hands for minutes, his stupidest thoughts telling him that it wouldn’t be that pathetic and wrong to send them.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Cricket match is right around the corner, and Lady Denham isn't done playing matchmaker.

♦♦♦♦♦♦

Babington had agreed to have drinks with Crowe in the middle of July, his article had been published and letters had come flooding in from fellow scholars and philosophy enthusiasts. He’d wished to answer them but had yet to find the time for it between tutoring the children of the families he worked for. Esther had set him on a magnificently successful path with her wonderful insights.

Crowe was already sitting at a table. They’d been drinking for an hour, smoking from an oriental hookah which stood between them, when Crowe decided to tell his friend of his most recent decision.

‘I intend to indulge in a spot of light flirtation.’

‘In here?’

‘Not here. Sanditon. I’ve decided to partake in Sidney’s cricket game after all.’

‘Why the change of heart?’

‘Clara Brereton wrote to me. Says she enjoyed my company and hopes to see me at the cricket match. Want to come?’

‘Can’t. I had taken time off for the week of the regatta and midsummer ball once Sidney asked us to come, but until then I still have to tutor some students. Though I really wish I could go.’

‘Oh. Not Miss Denham, please. I'm becoming quite exhausted at the mention of her name. You're uncommonly smitten with that women, heaven knows why. Though she's clever, I grant you. She knows it's the chase that keeps you dangling. Pretending she isn’t aware of how she has you wrapped around your finger, never giving a single encouragement.’

‘Well, you could not be more wrong, Crowe. Miss Denham does not waste time with petty games. She is entirely herself at every turn. If there was any chance she’d be receptive to my affections, I’d write to her in a heartbeat.’

‘Oh, good grief, man. You are lost.’

‘ I wish I could enjoy my experience with love. Could you please take a print of my most recent article with you for her?’

‘Fine. But only because you are my friend and I would not enjoy to look at your sad face if I refused.’


	5. The Article

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esther withdraws from the cricket game to read Babington's article.
> 
> “I have always believed that a prize too easily won, has no real worth. All scientists know the truth will not let itself be revealed easily. But it helps if there is already someone on the other side to help lift the veil concealing truth and wisdom. The greatest insights are always to be won when great minds are united, therefor I wish to convey my thanks to Miss E. Denham without whose ..."
> 
> This wasn't giving credit, this was a love letter.

Esther did _not_ feel disappointed when she noticed Crowe had come alone. And her heart did not ache when she saw with what fondness Clara and Miss Heywood were treated by the present men. She’d been alone for years, but that didn’t mean she had to feel lonely.

‘Ah, Miss Denham, before I go, I have something for you’, Lord Crowe announced as he undid his coat. He retrieved a journal, placing it in front of her before walking over to the playing field. He didn’t wait for her reaction.

‘What’s that?’ required her aunt.

‘A journal.’

‘More reading? Why?’

‘Perhaps he knew I’d be bored from watching a game. If you don’t mind, I’ll go and read it somewhere silent’, Esther announced before walking away from the beach, her feet carrying her to the cliffs as she devoured the magazine without purpose. It was only when she reached the middle of the journal and recognized a certain name, she understood why she’d been given the journal.

Babington’s article had been finished then, and published, in a very serious and very scientific magazine. She wasn’t a dumb woman, but she’d barely understood what half the entries were about, and all the writers had thrown with names of other writers she wasn’t familiar with. She doubted the journal was intended for someone like her.

_“I have always believed that a prize too easily won, has no real worth. All scientists know the truth will not let itself be revealed easily. Yet I found myself surprised by how challenging it proved to be to talk about beauty, after all, it is something we encounter each day. But it helps if there is already someone on the other side to help lift the veil concealing truth and wisdom. The greatest insights are always to be won when great minds are united, therefor I wish to convey my thanks to Miss E. Denham without whose critical opinions on Kant and von Schiller this article would have never taken the form it has now. It is the prerogative of the fairer sex to know more about beauty and we men can only attempt to chase beauty in an attempt to capture it. But beauty, just like knowledge, refuses to be caught easily, in neither art nor words. In this article I shall…”_

This was not a text to be easily recovered from.

He had acknowledged her, named her even, in this journal where every other mentioned name was without a doubt the name of a great researcher.

He’d called her a great mind, and had even gone as far as saying the article wouldn’t have been the same without her. He’d complimented her beauty and had admitted to men trying to capture the essence of beauty because in vain.

This was a love letter. Only it was not private, but published for all to be seen.

Her heart was beating at an unprecedented pace.

She could’ve shared her opinion with a thousand men, and one hundred scholars, but none would have acknowledged her person and worth in such a way. Few men were so completely without ego or pride, that they felt confident enough to credit a woman for her help.

A particularly large wave crashed into the cliff with particular strength, salt drops of water reaching Esther’s face and shaking her from her reverie.

She’d been frustrated with his persistent presence inside her head and had been annoyed not an hour earlier when she felt sad that he hadn’t come, but now she felt less guilty for thinking of him.

She wished to see him again, though her mind could not comprehend why. He wasn’t attractive. Nor was he trying to court her. He was a scholar living in London, doing so many important things he didn’t even bother to come. 


	6. The London Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esther and Babington realize they've lost their hearts as they discover their desire through a dance.

Clara and Lord Crowe had hit it off again, and Lady Denham, intending to keep the momentum, decided to take her nieces to London for a couple of days, to keep Clara close to Crowe and to give Esther another shot at catching a gentleman’s eye.

She did catch someone’s eye at a ball, but it wasn’t someone she’d been expecting to meet.

‘Miss Denham?’

Esther looked away from Miss Heywood – who had come to London without any clear reason – and was surprised to see Mr. Babington. He was unmistakeable, even with the mask, thanks to his gleaming beard. He was dressed up for once, wearing tight white breeches and a dapper looking black coat, though it wasn’t very modern. She herself wasn’t hard to recognize either, as she wasn’t holding up her stick mask.

She instantly, and with great shame, remembered the thoughts she'd had about him during the past couple of weeks. Her body screamed at her to get away. Her feelings were too overwhelming to produce a neutral greeting, leading her to greet him with a quiet nod. How were they to interact after that journal article? How was she to behave, now that she felt anything but cool and disinterested?

‘I wasn’t aware you’d be in London.’

‘It was a spur of the moment decision of my aunt's behalf.’

Babington nodded, unsure of how to continue the conversation.

‘Did Crowe deliver you the-‘

‘Yes.’

‘Oh. Excellent. And how did you find it?’

‘I find it has taken away a part of my anonymity. I have been sought out by four separate men, since they had heard that a Miss Denham was attending the ball and were curious to meet her. And another person my aunt introduced me to, asked whether I happened to know a Miss Denham interested in philosophy.’

‘Oh, um. I apologize. You asked me to acknowledge you, I did not know how. I hope it wasn’t too much of an inconvenience?’

She flinched. She’d meant it in gest, but it had landed wrongly as he was too self-conscious

‘Not at all. Actually, you did me a great service. I’ve never had so many conversations about genuinely interesting topics before. It’s usually all quite superficial.’

He nodded with a smile, uncertain of what to talk about next.

‘I enjoyed your article.’

‘Did you? No remarks?’

‘Of course I have remarks.’

‘Perhaps we might discuss them during a dance?’ It would allow them a few precious minutes extra, without getting curious looks from bystanders. He didn’t wish to give the impression he meant anything to her. He knew how quickly people found cause for gossip.

Esther nodded, offering her hand so he could lead her to the dance floor.

He bowed before her as a musician tentatively touched the snares of the lute.

They stepped forward, both uncomfortable at the proximity to each other’s body, and very aware of how their own buzzed with excitement.

They spun around, before they twisted their shoulders towards each other, close enough for his coat to connect with her naked arm and cause shivers to run down her spine.

Her heart did _not_ jump as they started spinning around each other, their shoulders touching as they looked into each other’s eyes. She was fairly certain they weren’t meant to be touching, but she felt compelled to continue, her body taking over from her sense. His eyes caught her by surprise. They burned with undefinable emotion. Her breath stuck in her throat.

She tore her gaze away, finally recovering the power to breathe.

Her eyes found Clara and Lord Crowe, and Miss Heywood and Mr. Parker, both couples completely absorbed in their own tiny universes as they danced. They were dancing incredibly close together as well. Then surely, it was either perfectly normal to stand this close, or they’d all go to hell together for their lack of decorum.

She was snapped back to her own dance partner by his hand taking hold of hers, pulling her towards him. She’d missed a step by looking at the others. The energy between them made it impossible for her to apologize, or say anything else. They’d been intending to talk during the dance, but their difficulty conversing had now reached unexplored heights. The air was so heavy with tension she couldn't even get an apology past her mouth.

She stepped away and came closer again, this time holding her hand against his as she was intended to do. His hand wrapped around hers, before they spun around again.

It was impossible to look him in the eyes, but it was equally impossible to look away. His eyes held her captive, her free will completely lost. Fire spread from where their hands were touching andwent straight to her belly, before burning through her stomach and sinking even lower, making something tingle and burn where up until recently, she had never experienced any feelings before. After letting her turn around, he let her hand slip out of his, and offered his other hand, which she meekly took. Her hand was ice cold, and seconds away from shaking.

The beat picked up, becoming an entrancing medieval-like rhythm. She found her heartbeat mimicking the rhythm of the song.

His hand closed around hers, instantly heating it up. She was sure she'd melt before the dance was over. His other hand slid towards her side as her hand came to rest on his shoulder.

The awkwardness burned away as the distance between them shrank until only a flat hand could be placed between them. The letters he'd written to her but never sent, her feelings about the article, and their fear for their emotions about the other now molten. She was so close to him now she could even pick out the flecks of gold and blue in his eyes.

As she spun around, she suddenly realized the exact part of her anatomy that was now affected by the fire as well. It was in that moment she knew she was lost.

_Take a step away, break the closeness, I don’t have the strength to anymore,_ Babington begged internally.

His fingers twitched to pull her even closer, removing all distance. It would be so easy, he would barely have to try. He had her in his arms already.

But she didn’t fight as he held her closer than he should. She didn’t even blink as his thumb brushed over her back where his hand held her waist. He could only make out the faint rise of her breast when he did, her chin rising up to his face. If anything, he could almost call her receptive. But that was implausible.

Her face told nothing. There wasn’t a smile to be detected, only her wide eyes staring at him. But what emotions hid beneath those dark orbs he could only guess.

Perhaps she was too polite to remark upon it. She’d ignored how he’d embarrassed himself with inappropriate behaviour in the past as well.

They tugged and pulled, as they waltzed on the music, before coming to a standstill again, their hands slowly wrapping around each other’s wrists.

They lifted their united hands, which drew their breasts even closer together. He wet his lips as his eyes connected with Esther’s underneath their united hands. She could smell the pine scented oil on his beard. Gravity dragged her arms down, all strength leaving them as she suddenly envisioned him closing the distance.

But no such thing happened. Instead he gently picked up her hand, their arms forming a bow above her head. He lead her with absolute gentleness, spinning her around and around, until a smile broke through her stony face.

The music quickened even more. He took her other hand, skipping twice and drawing her along, before taking her other arm and skipping to the other side.

She was overwhelmed by his lightness of foot and the width of his shoulders. The jumping did nothing to extinguish the wildfire in her belly. She had no doubt that if the dance continued much longer, she would simply catch flame, until finally the flesh reflected the madness within, her entire body as red as her hair.

They skipped and jumped, never ending their touch. He pulled at her arms, causing her breasts to brush against the lengths of his arms.

Her eyes fluttered shut, the sensations becoming too much as he lead her through the remainder of the dance. The music started slowing down. She dared to look up again, her eyes connecting with his green ones as they stood frozen, chests touching until the crowd started clapping, finally breaking the spell.

He opened his mouth to say something, but a Lord tapped in. Esther looked away, seeing her aunt making her way towards the dance floor to look at her cousins. If she saw Esther refuse, Esther was certain she’d have Lady Denham lecturing her for the remainder of the trip. As her heartbeat slowed down, she couldn’t help but accept the man.

Being thrown into a tub of cold water could not have done a better job at waking him up from his daydream. All fire and passion leaving him at once as she was taken away from him.

He made his way towards the card room, bumping into a face he recognized in the hall on his way there. She looked up at the sound of footsteps behind her.

‘Ah, Mr. Babington is it not?’

‘Is is. Good evening to you, Lady Susan.’

‘It is fortunate I find you here, there’s someone I know who has an offer for you.’


	7. I Modi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowe tries to distract his friend's attentions away from Miss Denham, but it backfires.

Her aunt had taken ill not long after the ball. The best doctors in London were called upon to better her health.

Miss Heywood and the Parkers left for Sanditon, while the Denhams remained behind.

Clara continued visting Lord Crowe, while Esther remained at her aunt's sick bed. It was funny how, no two years prior, she wouldn’t have shed a tear for her aunt. She was still a miserable woman now, who felt like her money permitted her to boss all those near her around, but she’d warmed up since Edward had been sent away. She knew her aunt didn’t show it, but Lady Denham onlyw to marry her and Clara off because she cared about their future.

She wished she could say she was too worried for her aunt to think of anything else, but her dance with Babington never left her mind for longer than half an hour.

She could still feel his chest against her, the brush of his arms against her breasts, or the feel of their entwined hands. Sometimes her right hand traced her left, imagining how it would have felt to be touched without gloves.

And in the dead of night, god help her, she even once imagined how it would have felt to be touched without clothes by him.

She woke up the next day, restless and agitated, but was not allowed to hide out in her aunt’s room as Clara had set up to meet Lord Crowe and some of his other friends, and she was to come along as chaperone.

There were two other friends of Lord Crowe present, amongst which Mr. Babington, and she found herself wishing she’d put more care in her appearance. Even when she knew it was silly, her clothes were perfectly fashionable when one looked at the almost full decade Babington’s clothes were behind in fashion.

She knew she shouldn’t think of those old fashioned clothes with such fondness, but she couldn’t help but think they suited him, as they added to the professor look.

‘I have a birthday present for you, my friend. Second one can follow tonight, consider this a little preview’, Crowe laughed on the other side of the room from where she and Clara were sat with the second friend of Lord Crowe.

Babington unpacked the gift, which turned out to be a beautiful book bound in letter. The exterior was simple, not even carrying a title or author. Babington opened it and huffed a laugh.

‘Thank you, my friend, but that won’t be necessary.’

The men walked over to where everyone was sat, and installed themselves. After an hour, the second friend excused himself, and not long after that, Lord Crowe decided he needed to show Clara a certain something.

‘So, what is the book about?’

‘Oh nothing in particular. It’s just Crowe’s idea of fun.’

‘What is his idea of fun, I wonder. A book about wine perhaps?’ Esther asked as she stole the book from his lap and quickly walked away from him so she would have some time to observe its contents. Why shy suddenly decided to be so bold as to just take it, she didn’t know.

Nothing could have prepared her for the contents, and the smile was quickly wiped from her face as she observed the pictures flashing past her eyes, forever engraving themselves into her memory.

Her chest constricted as she watched Hellenistic heroes, as naked as their statues, engaged in the most scandalous of positions with their historical partners.

The effect on her body was instantaneous, and she could not stop it. Instantly her core heated up again, and the awful thoughts she’d had the previous night swarmed her. She couldn’t shut her mind off before her mind had conjured herself as the woman in one of the pictures, her legs wrapped around her very own Hercules.

The book was taken from her hands no second later. But the proximity was too much. She turned away, refusing to meet his eye.

‘It wasn’t meant for female consumption.’

‘Correct me if I’m wrong, but I think there’s a law against such books.’

‘There is’, he admitted, cheeks glowing with embarrassment. What would she think of him now, knowing his friend thought it funny to gift him an illustrated version of I Modi. It wasn’t appropriate for polite society. She’d forgiven him a lot, but he doubted she’d recover from this.

‘I didn’t ask for it. Wasn’t even interested in it. I don’t know why he gave it to me.’

Actually, he could guess all too well. Crowe had nagged about his need to get laid for weeks, hoping it would get his mind off of Esther. But the book would have probably only fuelled his imagination, and now it had embarrassed Esther as well. He barely knew how to treat her, now that she’d been made a confederate.

‘I should be fetching Clara. They’ve been gone too long.’

He closed his eyes, accepting defeat. It was done now. She was lost to him.

Nothing could have ever come from their interactions, but this was too painful to bear.

‘Please, Miss Denham. I apologize. I shouldn’t have accepted the book. And I should’ve stopped you in time. The contents are too crass.’

She walked away again, hand hovering above the door knob.

‘I’ll try to take this as an intellectual. At least now I know what I shall not experience if I never marry.’

‘Pictures and words can’t replicate the experience, just like beauty can’t be caught.’

Damned be his tongue!

She ran away from the room, as if the devil were on her heels, it probably was, coming to claim her innocent soul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In an age before the Kamasutra entered Brittain (for those interested: it was first published in 1883), I modi was one of the naughty illustrated books illegaly printed and sold in England, arriving there from France. It would be an expensive birthday gift, but a terribly inappropriate one. But I think it would be just the kind of present Crowe would give, quite intentionally, when there are ladies in the room.
> 
> If anyone wants to known what the drawings look like, here's a link to the Wikipedia page with drawings. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Modi


	8. Before Christmas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All's well that ends well.

The next time he saw her was at the regatta, her aunt was recovering but still frail.

She stood beside Charlotte Heywood and Mrs. Parker, whose eyes were both focussed on the Parker boat, even though Charlotte cheered on another team. Babington couldn’t look at them for more than a split second however, as him and Crowe were competing as well.

Or they were, until Crowe, who’d been drinking again, steered their boat right into another, causing both boats to crash into the river bank.

Wives and sisters fluttered towards the men of the other boat. Clara Brereton appeared on the slope. ‘I’ve heard of taking out the competition, but I’m afraid that was not the way it was supposed to be done’, she laughed as she helped Crowe out of the boat.

Cheers erupted from the other side of the river. The regatta had been won. No one came to help Babington though, and just as he’d placed one foot on land, the boat slipped away from under him, propelling him into the water.

He kicked with his feet, face reappearing above water. Crowe and Clara gazed at him with apologetic faces. They couldn’t help him without risking slipping into the water as well. As five others had trampled the grass on the crumply earth near the water, it had become a muddy slope which would now be quite hard to climb on, especially since he was wet and no one else could level the boat.

‘Perhaps you better row to the other side, tie the boat around the –‘

‘I know’, he sighed.

By the time he reached the other side, Clara and Crowe were engaged and Mr. Stringer’s boat was declared the winner. Lady Susan and Sidney awaited him, Sidney offering his coat now that his shirt had become see-through because of the water.

‘Trust me, I’m in complete control’, Babington said in Crowe’s exact tune. Sidney patted his shoulder. ‘I’m sorry. I’ve been distracted lately and Crowe’s really been rough on you. I hope matrimony will bring him to heel.’

‘Matrimony?’

‘He’s engaged to Miss Brereton.’

‘Good for him. Hope he’ll be happy. I wish Miss Brereton luck, she’ll need it.’

Sidney’s eyes fell on his former fiancée.

‘Will you be fine, Babbers? I need to handle something.’

‘Handle?’

Lady Susan studied the tallest Parker with sharp eyes.

‘It’s time I tell her the past should remain in the past. This isn’t the same river.’ He snorted a last laugh before leaving. Babington wondered what his friend found so amusing about his own speech.

‘Well, I should be going. Can we expect you to start your position in August, Mr. Babington? I’ve heard His Highness is considering a knighthood in the near future, it should only take a couple more publications.’

‘A knighthood?’

Lady Susan raised her eyebrows before turning away.

‘Good day, Mr. Babington.’

♦♦♦♦♦♦

With Crowe having gone to ask permission of Lady Denham and probably staying over for dinner, Babington’s evening was empty. So at twilight he set out to see the cliffs Esther had talked about during the luncheon.

He walked by the beach, the view of the horizon completely unobstructed, was gorgeous. More and more hues of purple and gold seeped into the evening sky as he climbed the grassy hill. He could hear seagulls in the distance, and the soft rushing of wind and water, but beside that there was absolute silence. You could walk right into the deepest part of any London park and still hear carriage rides and people talking. The city was never silent. He walked beside the hardened dirt path leading out of Sanditon, he didn’t wish to perturb the perfect silence with the sound of shoes on earth. Finally, after about a twenty minute walk, he reached the top.

He allowed his hands to relax, fingers sliding through the tall yellow dune grasses. The wind tore at his clothes, but not unpleasantly so. If he were honest, the way the wind pushed him forward was quite pleasant. He closed his eyes and allowed the wind to carry him, further away from the path, and more towards the uneven grass covering the rocks. He ended at the edge of a certain slope, opening his eyes as his feet slipped away. There before him, was a foot path leading down to another beach. Before him he could see the gentle slopes of the hillside, dotted with bushes and small trees, and then, quite abruptly, the end of the lush greenery. No transition could be seen, indicating the steepness of the hill as the smooth greenery went over into jagged dangerous looking rock formations rising from the grey untamed see. He could make out the form of the coastline as far as his eyes could see.

The pink had been chased from the sky, and was replaced with a bright golden yellow bar right above the horizon which coated the entire countryside in a golden light, above that bar the entire sky was a darker blue, save for a few clouds which still held some pastel hues.

He could stare at the scene forever. It would without a doubt make a stunning painting, but he urged his feet to move on, determined to find the cliffside against which he could see the waves breaking. He’d written about it, but now he wished to experience the sublime.

In the distance, he could make out a female silhouette against the evening sky, her skirts flapping around her unperturbed, the woman being entirely focussed on the sunset.

His heartbeat picked up as he drew near, there was no mistaking the gleaming copper of those curls.

The woman was standing on the most outward reaching ledge of the cliff. One strong gust of wind could easily make her stumble two feet, which was all that was between her and the abyss. Disturbing her could scare her, and she was too close to the edge to risk it.

Luckily she sank through her knees, sitting down on the ledge.

The force of the wind grew stronger and stronger the closer he got to the ledge, carrying the sound of the crashing waves.

She reached into her hair, fingers extracting four pins simultaneously. The pins she’d missed were no match for the wind, which pulled and tugged at the gorgeous gleaming curls until they freely flew around her face.

He took another step closer, the wind covering any sound he made. He was standing on the ledge as well now, and as he looked next to him, he could see an almost perfectly vertical cliffside, the top covered in rough grasses and moss, the bottom ending in rocks rising from the sea, against which waves smashed with full force, before carefully being drawn back into the ocean. The sight made him dizzy.

But Esther had been right. He was in awe, compelled to look even as the wind tore at his clothes and the depth made him unsteady on his feet. He knew any wrong step could be his last, yet he was compelled to remain put.

‘Mr. Babington?’

However it was not impossible to look away. Not when the most sublime thing on earth was sitting right in front of him. He didn’t know what had made her turn around, but she had and now he felt like a creep for not having alerted her before.

‘I though I should follow up on your recommendation and see the cliffs for myself.’

‘How do you find them?’

‘Enchanting.’

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. She knew he wasn’t talking about the cliffs. She stood upright. She’d come here to think in solitude. She’d realized at the regatta that just the sight of him, even when he was so far removed, was enough to make her body tense. The emotions confused her in a most profound way. Her body simply didn't know what to do with all her feelings.

‘I’m sorry I perturbed you. I simply wished to see it for myself. I was afraid calling you would scare you and I don’t enjoy the idea of having scared you to death. There’s not a lot of space on this cliff.’

‘There’s not’, she said as she walked a few steps towards the land again. He realized he stood in her way, and quickly took a few steps back as well.

‘Did you recover from the regatta?’ She smirked as she continued walking away from the cliff.

‘Me and my clothes only required minor cleaning. We’re fine. My ego though, trudging past dozens of people in soaking wet clothes is not something to be easily recovered from’, he replied as he followed her.

‘Perhaps you should go search for it on the bottom of the river. You appeared to be quite the strong swimmer before you got back into your boat.’

She'd watched him. The revelation made something achingly close to hope flutter inside his belly.

‘I have never met anyone else who can give a compliment in such a way as it might also be an insult. Do you always enjoy watching people struggle?’ he laughed.

Esther smiled, turning her face away from him.

‘You are extraordinary Miss Denham. Quite extraordinary.’

He was powerless against the feelings she’d stirred in him. As powerless as the little rowing boat from the regatta would be against the strong waves slamming against the cliffs.

‘I’m all at sea.’

His heart was hammering against his chest so strongly, he could even hear it.

‘It's getting cold, Lord Babington. I should go home. But you can head back and have your sublime experience.’ she laughed in an attempt to break the tension.

‘I cannot go back. I am compelled to go forward, Miss Denham.’

She was the only thing he wished to experience. The one thing he wished to possess and be close to above all others.

‘Might I escort you home?’

She assumed he would agree with her suggestion like always. He’d never asked for a second dance on both balls they’d attended, he’d never asked to write to her, he didn’t even go out of his way to greet her. Yet he had always tried to keep a conversation going, even when she wasn’t encouraging him to do so. Perhaps he’d just been polite. Perhaps, for the second time in her life she’d fallen in love, she’d once again chosen a person who didn’t return her affections.

She nodded, hooking her arm through his. The summer coat he wore had probably always been thin, but it was threadbare in a few places her fingertips couldn’t help but keep rubbing over. He was as warm as ever, heating her hands which had grown cold from being outside on the cliffside for over an hour.

Her body appeared to simultaneously calm down and go into overdrive as they walked.

Her eyes focussed on his hand, and the few hairs dusted on top of it.

One of the images from the book propped up again, her mind replicating the texture and look of his hand to paint a mental image of his arm without clothes. She looked at the grass, rocks and waves, forcing her mind to instead replicate the scenery she was walking through.

She wondered how poor he could actually be. He couldn’t be that poor if he was friends with Mr. Parker and Lord Crowe, and attended parties which were also attended by London’s most rich and famous.

Her dowry was of considerable proportions, and her inheritance would be enough for her and at least another three generations to live a comfortable life.

A rabbit shot out of its hole right in front of their feet. Mr. Babington quickly drew her back, but stumbled over a jagged piece of rock hidden between the tall grasses.

They fell backward, the sandy underground and grasses breaking their fall.

‘Miss Denham I am so sorry.’

She rolled onto her side, and was startled when she noticed they were lying against each other. A shiver ran down her spine. Perhaps her mind had been ruined forever by the images, as they now haunted her. Her heart jumped, her body giving signals she couldn't interpret yet. 

‘If I ever needed any prove of you being a cityman, falling out of a boat and being scared by a rabbit would suffice on their own, but combined, I am left without any doubt as to where you belong.’

He laughed, she looked even more stunning when she was annoyed.

‘There was no doubt as to where I belonged. I’m but a poor professor, used to spending my days locked away in studies and libraries. Once upon a time I see a tree through a window, reminding me that there is a world out there.’

‘Did you say professor?’

‘I may have accepted a position at a certain university. A rector who’d been following my work decided to offer me a position after having read my last article. If my name ever means anything, it’ll be because of you.’

‘You are beyond redemption.’ A high pitched giggle left her mouth. She’d only given her opinion on two philosophers, in less than ten minutes, he had written a thirty page article, and many before that one. He gave her too much credit.

‘Unfortunate. Since I would not mind being brought back in touch with nature. I admit I find it quite enjoyable here. Sanditon has me charmed.’

‘Perhaps you need someone on the other side to help you lift the veil once again’, she teased.‘ Perhaps, if you wish to enjoy nature’s beauty, you need a woman’s guiding hand again.’

Lord Babington gasped for breath, his mind conjuring the wrong side of nature, guided by a female hand.

‘Miss Denham’, he breathed. Her eyes fluttered towards his green ones. It was a miracle neither could hear the other’s heartbeat.

He didn’t know what could possible bring her to lay her hand on his cheek, her thumb brushing his beard. His breathing halted. He knew there was nothing particularly attractive to him. His hair was too straight for the current fashion, and beards were only _en vogue_ amongst scholars. His clothes were out of fashion, and he’d made so many mistakes during their acquaintance it was a small miracle she still talked to him at all.

She was making a mistake.

‘Miss Denham, please.’

Her fingertips stopped moving, but he found her hand started to tremble.

The air which had been sizzling before, now became cold.

‘You don’t want this. You don’t want me.’

She tore away from him, clinging her hand to her body as if she’d been burned.

Another man telling her her feelings were stupid.

Another man refusing to have a relationship with her.

He was probably pretending he was doing her a favour by stopping her, while it was in fact he who didn’t want her.

Well at least he wasn’t after her money. Even her money couldn’t tempt him.

Her eyes pooled with water. She couldn’t even hide them, as the wind blew them out of the corners of her eyes before she could blink them away. She could feel the traitorous hot traces they left on her cheeks.

She could die of shame. He knew her secret now. At least he had the respect not to laugh at her silly crush. This was a man so many years older than she was, world wise, and experienced in ways she could only guess at. No doubt she would appear unsuitable to his eyes, with her countryside background.

‘Just be enough of a man to say you don’t want me, instead of lying in an attempt to appear noble.'

‘Wh -not… No.’

He reached for her but she crawled away.

‘To say so would make me a liar. I love you.’

‘Don’t make me laugh. Either you have the oddest way of showing it, or you’re lying. What man who is truly interested in me would willingly give me away to the first person who taps in, never ask me to dance a second time, wouldn’t even ask to write to me even when he claims my opinion is useful, and would even stop me when I’m about to kiss him?’

‘A poor one!’ He shouted passionately.

‘A poor man who knows someone so gorgeous and smart as you could have anyone. I didn’t dare stand in the way of you forming a worthy attachment. I didn’t dare to push my luck, I was already happy you tolerated my company the way you did. I didn’t dare ask for more.’

The sun had sank away beneath the horizon, leaving her face and hair looking as cold as her facial expression in the evening light.

‘One who even cried himself to sleep, cursing himself for falling in love with a woman he fully well knew was off limits the second he first set his eyes on her.’

Her expression cracked, tears running over her cheeks once again, before the wind blew them into her hair.

‘Don’t you dare insinuate I didn’t want to dance with you a second time. Don’t you dare think I didn’t wish to write to you while I have dozens of unsent letters in my drawer all addressed to you. If it was up to me, my lips would never leave yours.’

When he reached out this time, she answered his beckoning, gravitating towards him.

His hand slid into her hair as she shifted even closer to him, her legs opening as she slid on top of his legs.

‘You’re the only beauty I mourned being separated from. Night skies, storms and raging seas don’t hold a candle to you.’

‘Stop talking’, she breathed before pushing aside any air remaining between them.

Sublime was having Esther Denham in his arms, as they were torn at by wild winds near steep cliffs. Divine was falling down in the dunes with her, taking far too many liberties but never being stopped as his name tumbled from her lips with a breathless voice.

Heaven was Lady Denham not even being strong enough to attempt to convince Esther of marrying another.

Perfection was Sidney Parker asking Miss Heywood to marry him at the ball, and all three friends being married before the year was over.

And in the New Year, not only did he become Sir Babington, but father as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was a wild ride. I hope you all enjoyed. I almost published it as a one shot but then decided to try posting short chapters for a change, let me know what you think of the format. 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading, if you like it leave a kudo. See you soon with a new tale Sanditon fam!


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